a tree falls

but that was then, and this is now

The sands of Torchline are cooler beneath Remi’s feet than they might have been in another season, the Deepfrost air lending an unexpected crispness to the Ahi Coast. The sun hangs low over the water, gilding the waves in molten gold and setting a pale fire to the horizon, the heat of its light at odds with the faint bite of the breeze that brushes against his cheeks.

Remi stands at the water's edge, his toes buried in the sand where the tide laps lazily against the shore. He’s dressed simply, his sweater loose and worn, pushed up at the sleeves to let the salt-laden wind nip at his skin. A long scarf hangs loosely around his neck, its ends fluttering in the breeze as if reaching out toward the horizon. There’s a subtle tension in his stance, a readiness for movement that contrasts with the calm rhythm of the waves.

He casts his gaze out to sea, his eyes narrowed slightly against the glare, though his focus isn’t truly on the water. He’s waiting, his thoughts tangling like driftwood caught in a tidepool. Isla’s words echo in his mind—what she’d relayed about Sunjata’s infection and cleansing—mingling with what had so recently happened between Ronin and Dahlia. It had been enough to prompt Remi to reach out to Sunjata, even if he wasn’t entirely sure how the Flood would respond.

the bastion

Table by the wonderful SKY